


The Vagaries of Fate

by glorious_spoon



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Apologies, Dubious Ethics, First Time, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: It says something about Jaskier’s life, probably, that he isn’t even all that surprised when he opens the door of his promised room, thinking of nothing more than a mouthful of whiskey from his hip flask followed expeditiously by unconsciousness, to find a silk-draped boudoir and a mostly-naked sorceress waiting for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier/Yennefer
Comments: 48
Kudos: 977





	The Vagaries of Fate

It says something about Jaskier’s life, probably, that he isn’t even all that surprised when he opens the door of his promised room, thinking of nothing more than a mouthful of whiskey from his hip flask followed expeditiously by unconsciousness, to find a silk-draped boudoir and a mostly-naked sorceress waiting for him.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he says, and then, “he isn’t here. I haven’t seen him in months and I’m fairly certain we’re not on speaking terms these days.”

“What makes you think I’m looking for Geralt, bard?” Yennefer asks, moving toward him. Black silk is gathered about her hips but it’s open enough to show tantalizing flashes of her lovely thighs as she moves, and above it is only bare skin, sleek belly, delicate collarbones and high pert breasts.

Jaskier fixes his gaze determinedly on her face. The familiar thrum of terror makes that quite a bit easier than it usually would be. “Ah. Past experience?”

She tilts her head slightly. “That hasn’t kept either of us in very good stead, has it?”

“What are you…” He trails off. Normally, he’d make at least an effort at playing the game, but he’s exhausted and miserable and Yennefer of Vengerberg would effortlessly outmatch him in any case. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m very tired and I don’t have a fucking clue where Geralt is. So if you don’t mind...”

“Geralt will turn up. He always does.” She sways closer. Her eyes are intent. Lovely, in the way that a mantling dragon is lovely. “I was looking for you.”

That’s so much worse. “I’m fairly sure I haven’t done anything to deserve that.”

“Am I so awful as that?”

“No!” Jaskier says emphatically. The worst thing is, it’s the truth. Yenn is fucking terrifying, a fine match for Geralt in that respect, but she’s also saved his life, protected Geralt, cared for them both. “I’m just somewhat confused by this turn of events.”

“We’re both bound to Geralt, like it or not. That binds us to each other as well.” She eyes him with a look that Jaskier’s more accustomed to seeing from farmwives inspecting hams at a market than naked women in a bedroom fit for a king. “Besides, you’re not bad to look at.”

“As flattering as that is,” Jaskier starts, sliding a foot backward toward the door, “I really should be—”

“Jaskier.” She sets a hand on his chest, stilling him. He could still pull away; she hasn’t frozen his muscles and bones, and it’s that, somehow, that gives him pause. That, and the expression in her eyes. It’s one he’s seen more than once on Geralt’s face as well. That terrible, distant loneliness. Yenn is beautiful in the way that Geralt is, in the way of damaged things that stubbornly refuse to break.

Evidently, Jaskier has a type.

“Fine,” he sighs, and starts tugging at the buttons of his jacket. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” Yennefer says, but she’s smiling, unexpectedly sweet, as she pulls him down for a kiss.

*

It’s been close to a year since he’s seen Geralt, but somehow he isn’t that surprised to be woken out of a post-coital doze to the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. The door bursts open, and he lifts his head in time to see Geralt paused in the doorway, wearing full armor and an expression of stunned bafflement that would be fairly comical in other circumstances. Beside him, Yennefer shifts sleepily and props herself up on her elbows.

“Yennefer,” Geralt says, wary.

“You planned this, didn’t you,” Jaskier mumbles, dropping his head back to the pillow.

“Mmhm.” She kisses the side of his face, then sits up, loose hair spilling around her naked torso in what is quite frankly a stunning, if undoubtedly scripted, display.

Jaskier grabs a handful of sheets and tugs them up to cover his groin, then wishes that he’d kept still when Geralt’s gaze flicks toward him. “Jaskier.”

“I’ll just be—” he starts to say, and Yennefer interrupts as though he’s not there at all. Par for the course, really. He ought to have expected to be reduced to a prop in their grand and magnificently dysfunctional romance, although it would be nice to be wearing pants for the occasion.

“You owe me an apology.” She's the only person Jaskier knows who could sound that regal while naked and sex-mussed. “Him too, for that matter.”

A muscle tics in Geralt’s jaw as he clenches it like he’s about to chew nails. He drops a hand to the pommel of his sword and circles the bed until it’s Jaskier that he’s looming over. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jaskier squeaks, tugging valiantly at the sheet.

“I haven’t enchanted him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Yennefer interjects flatly.

“It wasn’t.”

Jaskier gives up on trying to shield his modesty and puts both hands over his face as Geralt peers down at him. “Do you suppose it’s actually possible for a person to die of mortification?”

“If it was, you’d have done so long before now,” Geralt says. “Yenn.”

“You’re a liar and an asshole, and I’m still fucking furious with you.”

“I know.”

He stops there. Through his hands, Jaskier says, “An apology would be traditional at this point.”

Beside him, Yenn laughs softly. Geralt sighs and sheaths his blade, finally. “I’m sorry.”

“See, now, was that really so hard?”

“For him?” Yenn asks, which, fair point. To Geralt, she adds, “Stop being an idiot and get in the bed.”

Geralt lets out a hard breath through his nose and doesn’t move.

Jaskier gives some brief consideration to the idea of being scandalized by this turn of events, but the honest truth is that he probably should have seen it coming. He drops his hands and looks up at Geralt, who is eyeing the pair of them with a helpless expression. His big hands are clenching and unclenching like he’s reaching for some kind of mooring in thin air, and it’s probably indicative of a deficiency of common sense that the sight fills Jaskier with affectionate warmth.

“Lose the armor, though,” he adds, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Yenn duck her head. The smile on her face this time isn’t predatory at all, it’s just amused and—dare he say it— _fond_.

“Fine,” Geralt sighs finally. He starts unbuckling his armor, unshelling himself to a ragged-looking black shirt and trousers that have seen better days. He kicks off his boots as well, then stands there hesitating for another long moment before Jaskier reaches up in the same moment as Yenn does to pull him down.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] The Vagaries of Fate, by glorious_spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22524322) by [Thimblerig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig)




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